Rumpled Bedding
by BluePhyre
Summary: "I know. I know what you're here for. But I have my dignity. I have rumpled bedding to legitimize. I have honor and morals and self respect!" It's another late night visit from the Dark Lord, but Bellatrix has had enough... She's tired of being used. B/V


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter... Or Sweeney Todd xD**

Hello, loves! It's Phyre here with another HP fanfic, as you can so obviously see. I usually do a Drarry bit (though, I'm working on a nice Drastoria longshot), though, after watching Sweeney Todd religiously, I decided to do something on Bellatrix and Voldemort, vaguely based off of Mrs. Lovett. I see a lot of her deep within Bella. I mean, if only she weren't deathly afraid for her life, I'm quite positive she'd be the Lovett to Voldie's Todd. It'd be a bit adorable. My friend and her boyfriend are very much like Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney in By the Sea, which is where this title and one line within comes from. Again, I believed it summed them up rather well, so... Yeah. That'd be it. I'm not adding an A/N at the end, so this is it. Read and review, please and thank you! I'll reply to any review, it just might take me some... time... I want to hear your opinions, my fellow Pottermaniacs!

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It wasn't love. She had heard of love. She had seen it in Lucius' eyes when he stared at her sister, and she had seen it in her sister's eyes when she stared back at him. She had seen it in the dilating, frightened pupils of so many innocent she had killed. She had witnessed it a thousand times over, spat at it, laughed at it, wept at it. But she did not see it in _His_ eyes. Not for her, not for anyone else. But she didn't expect it from him. He simply... could not love.

Rodolphus could. She had seen it in _him_. And she had experienced it herself. Yes, she, Bellatrix Lestrange, had loved. She loved her husband very much. And then... the Dark Lord got a hold of her, and she learned to love nothing at all; nothing but killing, the Cause, and her master.

Her master... Voldemort... She loved him so much it hurt. He had seen all of her being; she had given it to him so welcomingly. She had let him in, let him use her. She was beaten and bruised and, once, pregnant. But he hadn't wanted the child, and she had never been able to keep one, anyway. Just like Narcissa, who had been in good luck only once. And even then, that ponce of a boy? That rat that looked just like his no-good father? What a shame the Black family had to end so grievously.

"My Lord," she whispered as she stalked into her room. Bellatrix had yet to see her master's quarters, after years of _serving_ him, their time together interrupted by Azkaban and, well, death. She would most-likely never get to see them, either. It was always her room, when he felt like it, whether _she_ felt like it or not. He didn't reply, but instead eyed the dress that hid her frame. But, unlike what he expected of her, she steadily kept it on, staring back at him.

"Bella," he murmured, walking close as she did not do as he had so silently implied. Long, thin, boney fingers unfurled from the usual fist they were balled into, stroking her cheek. His skin was like ivory, hers only shades darker. Bellatrix looked into his eyes, watching the familiar, blood red eyes take her entirety in. Then, his thin mouth opened once more. "Bella, I've come to you for a reason."

"I know," she replied cheekily, heavy-lidded eyes becoming suddenly heavier as she stared seductively through her eyelashes. It had been a trick that never worked on him, as he was swayed by nothing, she being so much the same. "But I have my dignity. I have my rumpled bedding to be legitimized. I have morals and self-respect and-"

She didn't finish, instead stopping as a hard hand fell down on her cheek, knocking her sideways. The sound echoed across her large, dark room, and then, there was silence. The Dark Lord only stared her down, crimson eyes narrowed, small nostrils flared, pointed teeth bared. Bellatrix was frightened, as she knew so well what could happen to her. She had seen it dozens of times before, the brutality. But she had enough... She loved him so much, but Bellatrix Lestrange was not one to be messed with; not one to use. And now, he was so blatantly using her.

"Before your bedding, morals, and self-respect, you have your master," Voldemort snapped, his voice a hiss so similar to Nagini's that it send shudders down Bella's spine. Oh, how she wished he would use that voice in other ways... He _never_ talked during it, never. Nothing but to bark out commands, to demand what he wanted of her. "And he... _I..._ I want to be served."

"You care nothing for me!" Bellatrix shouted back, inching away from the Dark Lord, who, she knew, was much better at a distance. "You ought to be impartial to whose mouth it is clamped around you, my Lord. Find someone else. I don't want to do this anymore. I want my dignity. Killing, lying, stealing. All are sins. But adultery? It makes me disgraceful to the House of Black, when I am the only up upholding it. Find yourself someone else."

There was a moment of silence. Bellatrix searched her master's face, watching, wondering what he was thinking. Then, he drew his wand. She yanked out her own, holding it out in front of her for the little protection it would provide against the most powerful dark wizard on the face of the earth. Within seconds, she was on the floor, writhing in pain, shrieking, trying to escape from it all. And the Dark Lord, he had instilled it without a single utterance, and was laughing as she squirmed and shouted, as if she had been lit on fire.

"I want _you_," he hissed, bending over to examine her pretty face as she endured the pain. Through all of it, the burning and the cold washing through her, the horror that she was experiencing, she heard that voice, those words, and the world was at ease. She felt the pain, but didn't mind it. Her Lord... "And you shall serve me simply because of that."

The pain stopped, and the Dark Lord put his wand away. Bellatrix pulled herself up off the floor, brushing the dust off of her dress as if nothing had happened. That was what she had perfected: lying. But the Dark Lord's smirk gave her enough to go by, and, as he drew closer once more, she slipped her eyes shut, and he caressed her cheek softly, his hands cold to the touch.

"After all, Bella," he murmured, lips skimming her ear lightly, "you _are_ the best."


End file.
